


Cure For What Ails You

by brynnmck



Category: due South
Genre: Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-01
Updated: 2007-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Fraser, I swear to god, if you start telling me some story about a harp seal with a broken flipper, you are going to find out what it feels like to be kicked in the head by a cast." </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cure For What Ails You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brooklinegirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklinegirl/gifts).



> Written for [](http://brooklinegirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**brooklinegirl**](http://brooklinegirl.livejournal.com/) on the occasion of her brokenness, with an idea shamelessly stolen from her (except that Vecchio snuck in there somehow—I DON'T KNOW HOW THAT HAPPENED).

"Ray," Fraser started, in a tone that made Ray seriously consider hobbling across the room and dumping himself out the window.

"Fraser, I swear to god, if you start telling me some story about a harp seal with a broken flipper, you are going to find out what it feels like to be kicked in the head by a cast."

Fraser closed his mouth, tight enough that Ray could see a muscle twitch in his jaw, and _shit_. Now Ray felt like an asshole. A broken-footed, couch-bound asshole, who needed help to go to the fucking _bathroom_ , and if he couldn't get out of this fucking apartment and _move_ , somewhere, _anywhere_ , Vecchio was gonna come back and find him and Fraser both dead on the floor, murder-suicide, and they were gonna be the only people ever who had died from one of them having a broken foot.

Except—in a specifically Fraser-shaped coincidence, he was pretty sure—Ray's gun was way out of reach, and Fraser had magical Mountie powers, so it would probably end up with Vecchio walking in on Fraser calmly holding Ray down and lecturing at him while Ray tried to stuff his own fist down his throat to put himself out of his misery.

_Fuck._

Maybe time for Plan B. Or more like Plan X, considering that Plans A through W over the past day or so had involved some combination of yelling, wheedling, sneaking (which, for the record, was _really_ fucking hard with a thousand-pound cast—Ray could’ve sworn the fucking thing was made of lead), and flinging himself bodily off the couch in a desperate bid for freedom, but hey. Who was counting?

"OK," he said, giving Fraser his winningest smile.

Fraser raised an eyebrow.

"What if I—"

"No," Fraser said immediately.

"But I just want to—"

 _"No,"_ Fraser repeated.

"Fraser!" Ray protested. "You don't even know what I'm gonna ask!"

"Does it involve leaving that couch?"

"Well—"

"Then no," Fraser interrupted calmly, and Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Ray was _this_ close to either clocking him or bursting into tears, and he honestly could not have said which. Fraser, not being as dumb as he occasionally pretended to be, leaned forward and put a hand on Ray's knee. "Ray, please. I know how frustrating this is—"

"You don't know!" Ray exploded. "You don't get hurt! You fall off a building and you put some fucking tree sap on it and you're fine!" Out of reflex, he shoved himself off the couch to pace, and his foot hit the floor with a thump and everything went white and red with pain, and just as he doubled over into Fraser's arms, he heard the front door click open.

"Kowalski!" Vecchio's voice came sharp through the sick haze of pain. "What the fuck do you think you’re doing?"

"Fuck _you_ ," Ray wheezed, which made him feel a little bit better—swearing at Vecchio was a hell of a lot more satisfying than swearing at Fraser, on account of Vecchio was usually happy to swear back—and Fraser's hands were warm and solid on his shoulders, easing him back down to the couch.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, huh?” Vecchio continued, tossing his coat on a chair instead of hanging it in the closet like usual. His hands were full of grocery bags—even through the throbbing in his foot, Ray's finely honed senses could detect the presence of both popcorn and beer—and a few Blockbuster video cases, all of which he chucked on the coffee table without looking. He knelt down, examined Ray’s cast gingerly, while Ray winced and tried to breathe. The whole time, Vecchio’s mouth never stopped moving. “You got a broken foot, you moron. You hear that? You’re _broken_. What the hell do you think that means, dance a fucking tango? You wanna break yourself for good?” He set Ray’s foot on the floor with deliberate care and looked accusingly up at Fraser. “You’re supposed to be watching him.”

“I apologize, Ray; he’s proven to be a most recalcitrant patient.” But there was no disapproval in Fraser’s voice, not even the first leg of a guilt trip—just a little teasing, maybe, and one hand rubbing slowly up and down Ray’s back. It felt good, just like Vecchio’s hand on Ray’s thigh, Vecchio’s eyes dark with concern.

Ray closed his own eyes, let his chin drop to his chest. “I fucking _hate_ this.”

“It’s only a day or two,” Fraser said soothingly.

“Fraser,” Ray groaned, “I’m gonna go nuts in another _hour_ or two.”

“Geez, Kowalski,” Vecchio said, his thumb moving on Ray’s thigh in counterpoint to the rhythm of Fraser’s hand. “Normally can’t get you outta bed for love or money, and _now_ suddenly you’re feeling all motivated?”

Ray glared. "'Motivated' is not exactly the word I would choose, here, Vecchio, unless you count being motivated to put my fist through the wall."

"Yeah, because a broken _hand_ is really gonna distract from your foot. Great plan." Vecchio sighed and reached for Ray's foot again. "How 'bout the words 'keep it elevated'? Those words mean anything to you, dumbass?"

Ray grinned— _aww, thanks for the setup, Vecchio, you shouldn't have_ —and lifted his middle finger. "You mean like this?"

"Nice," Vecchio snorted, propping the thousand-pound cast up on the coffee table. Which left his face right about level with Ray's crotch.

_Huh._

Vecchio looked up at Fraser again, who had been quiet as usual during their little exchange. Probably grinning, too, which was really fucking weird, considering Ray and Vecchio had a way of clearing a room when they got like this, but then, Ray guessed Fraser was a glutton for punishment or he wouldn’t have stuck around this long.

Now _Vecchio_ was grinning, which meant Fraser was _definitely_ grinning, and Ray's heart started to thump a little bit.

"You know, Ray," Fraser said, his voice warm and rich in Ray's ear, "I really think you're overlooking the positive aspects of this situation."

"Oh yeah?" Ray asked, through a throat that had gone suddenly tighter. Next to him, Fraser shifted, angling so that he was braced in the corner between the arm and the back of the couch. Ray felt two strong hands snaking under his arms and let himself be pulled back to rest against Fraser's chest.

"Yeah," Vecchio was saying, sliding long fingers slowly up Ray's thighs. "I mean, it's Friday night. We got the whole weekend, and you can't go anywhere." He popped the button on Ray's jeans. "How're we ever gonna entertain him, Benny?"

Fraser dragged a fingertip over one of Ray's nipples. "I can't imagine."

All of a sudden, Ray's foot was feeling a lot better.

By the time Vecchio and Fraser had worked his jeans and boxers down over his hips, Ray was several miles down the road to forgetting he even _had_ feet; all the throbbing had certainly moved up north, anyway, and that right there was a major improvement. His clothes didn't fit very well over the cast, so Vecchio just left them hanging off his leg, which Ray guessed looked pretty stupid but Vecchio didn't seem to mind, leaning in to lick a long stripe up the inside of Ray's thigh. Ray jerked, and Vecchio put a hand on his hip to pin him down.

"Careful," Vecchio said, the smug edge to his grin that never failed to gun Ray's engine. "You gotta hold still."

"Yes," Fraser agreed, "you wouldn't want to—" and he paused just long enough that Ray knew Fraser knew exactly what he was saying—" _exacerbate_ your injury," and then he reached down with one hand and held Ray's cock in a steady grip while Vecchio swallowed him down in one go.

"Holy _fucking_ Christ—" Ray's eyes rolled back in his head, and his brain sort of shorted out for a few seconds, and by the time he could separate out his senses again, Vecchio was sucking him slow, careful, like they had all the time in the world, making appreciative noises as his tongue slid over every ridge and contour of Ray’s dick. Ray whimpered a little, reached up and back to tangle his hands in the soft thick fabric of Fraser’s shirt.

“Good, Ray,” Fraser murmured, catching Ray’s earlobe between his teeth, scraping just hard enough to get the blood rising hot to the surface. “Just relax. That’s good.”

Ray felt a quick, _you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me_ laugh burst out of him. _Relax?_ Jesus. He was about ten thousand miles from relaxed, wound up tight and gasping. He clutched harder at Fraser’s shirt, let his head fall to the side and Fraser’s mouth was there, just where Ray's jaw met his neck, the spot that made him shiver and beg, mirroring the slow steady slide of Vecchio’s mouth on Ray’s cock.

“God,” Ray managed, “ _please_ —“ but Vecchio and Fraser just took their time, surrounded him, skin on skin and wet and warmth and low voices Ray was way beyond understanding. But it sounded like love, felt like home, and he never got enough of that, so he closed his eyes and let it soak into him. Fraser's hands were working under Ray's t-shirt now, smooth and sure, and Ray twisted around to kiss him while Vecchio hummed encouragement that sent shock waves up Ray's spine. Between the two of them, they brought him right to the edge again and again, backing off each time until Ray was pressing up hard against Vecchio's hand on his hip, braced against Fraser's broad chest, all of his frustration from the past two days tangled up in want and need and sweet, desperate ache. Finally Fraser curled a hand around Vecchio's cheek, so that Ray could feel the pressure of Fraser's palm against his dick as it slid in and out of Vecchio's mouth, and Vecchio moaned and sucked a little harder, and all the spiraled tension inside Ray's body snapped and he came with both of them wrapped close around him.

 _Christ,_ was all he could think as he collapsed back against Fraser. _I shoulda broken my foot months ago_.

While Ray tried to get that whole breathing thing down again, Fraser nuzzled into his hair—probably sniffing, which really should have creeped Ray out but which he was actually starting to find weirdly comforting, which was just proof that living with Fraser made you insane. Vecchio licked him clean and then folded his arms over Ray's good leg, looking up at him, chin on his forearms and a smile on his face that made Ray's heart do a backflip in spite of the post-orgasmic paralysis.

"Feel better?" Vecchio asked.

Ray was too fucked-out to kick him, so he laughed instead, ending in a yawn. "What movies you get?"

Vecchio sat back on his heels, twisted to reach behind him toward where he'd ditched the Blockbuster cases, and Ray noticed through half-closed eyes that Vecchio was hard, the long familiar line of his cock stretched tight against his fancy slacks.

Hey. That was _way_ better than a movie.

"OK," Vecchio was saying, oblivious, "we got _Die Hard_ —unorthodox activity by officers of the law, sorry, Benny, Kowalski's pick—and…"

He trailed off into a strangled sort of gasp as Ray stretched out his bare foot and pressed his toes against Vecchio's hard-on.

Vecchio's eyelids fluttered shut for a second, then snapped open, eyes flashing hot. Ray grinned at him. "Jesus, Kowalski," Vecchio muttered, tripping a bit over the words as Ray moved his foot again. "You shouldn't—we can't—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm broken. I got it. But," and now he writhed a little, angling his ass against Fraser's crotch behind him, and—yep. Man. Could he pick 'em or what? "Nothin' wrong with you and Fraser."

Vecchio hesitated, looking up back behind Ray's head. From the way Vecchio's expression went from wary to smoldering, Ray got a pretty good picture of what Fraser thought of this idea.

Sure enough, right on cue, Fraser offered, "He has an excellent point, Ray." His voice was gravelly, a shivery massage against Ray's back. "One of the primary advantages to an arrangement such as ours is that when one member of the partnership falters for some reason, the other two are able to step into the breach, so to speak. And it would be cruel to deny the wishes of a wounded man."

Ray let his grin stretch into a leer. He loved it when Fraser talked like that, like an encyclopedia with a porno soundtrack running underneath. "Yeah," he said. "C'mon, Vecchio. Have some compassion."

"Well." Vecchio leered right back at him, braced both hands on the couch and slid up Ray's body for a long, messy kiss, "When you put it like _that_ …"

Ray hummed happily, tasting himself on Vecchio's tongue, arched back against Fraser again and heard Fraser's quiet groan in his ear. Then he tore away from Vecchio's mouth with an effort and carefully maneuvered himself out from between Fraser's legs, dragging his boxers on awkwardly before propping himself against the opposite arm of the couch.

"Keep your foot elevated, Ray," Fraser reminded him, clearly distracted, his face flushed, his hands drifting up Vecchio's arms.

Ray winked. "Yep. Fully elevated over here, Fraser. No worries."

Vecchio laughed low, then leaned in, kissed Fraser dirty and wet.

"Little to the left," Ray offered helpfully, and Fraser laughed this time, muffled in Vecchio's mouth. Ray grinned again, settled back with one hand on his stomach to enjoy the show.

 _Yeah_ , he thought smugly. _Damn. Shoulda thought of this_ months _ago._


End file.
